


Very Modern Music

by PurpleFluffyCat



Category: Original Work
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Music, Musicians, Older Characters, Original Slash, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1439536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleFluffyCat/pseuds/PurpleFluffyCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set firmly within the English Choral tradition, this piece offers a glimpse of what might happen when two well-respected Directors of Music return home from long summer tours...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Very Modern Music

**Author's Note:**

> Original m/m slash; established relationship; somewhat comedic; somewhat historical.

Peter perched neatly on the chapel's organ bench, high above the cool stone floor in that dark, Tudor loft. The intricate carvings seemed to welcome him home; the myriad of familiar stops and keys joyful to feel his touch once more.  
  
 _Gosh, it was good to be back._  Touring was a necessary part of the job, and certainly brought its own rewards - fiscally, to say the least - but at heart Peter was a quieter creature than all that. Content sitting with the organ, perched like an owl at noon in a corner out of view, he counted the minutes since he had sent the note via the Porters: for delivery to a nearby college, with great urgency. A roundabout way of doing it, of course, but he didn't wish to risk being spotted that afternoon.  
  
The Chapel was closed to the public and the various busy-body wardens had already stopped work for the day. His organ scholar should be out of the way for at least the following hour. It was therefore of great significance when ten minutes later, Peter heard one of the thick oaken doors swing open far below, followed by light, long strides along the nave and spry, bounding steps up the rickety loft stairs - the walker taking two steps at a time, and not for a second belying the fact that he, also, was over sixty.  
  
Peter had swiveled around to face the loft entrance by the time his visitor arrived at the top of the stairs. Flushed and satirically grinning, Giles looked every inch as handsome as Peter remembered. His heart somersaulted quietly in place at the sight.  
  
"The Porters just gave me this note," Giles said, brandishing a torn piece of manuscript paper with neat, black handwriting on the reverse side. "'The urgent attention of the Director of Music is required in the organ loft of St. Margaret's Chapel', eh?"  
  
"And indeed it is," replied Peter with some smugness, his neat cross-legged posture on the organ bench not betraying the way his breath was in danger of catching and the chapel suddenly seemed far too warm.  
  
They gazed at one another for a long moment, all sardonic smiles and raised eyebrows, as clever public personas so often require.  
  
Then, all of a sudden, the reserve of both men broke. Giles bounded forwards and Peter sprang upwards, colliding heavily in the warmest of embraces. They held each other tightly for what seemed like hours, heads buried in shoulders and letting out breaths that they had no idea they had been holding.  
  
"That was far too long," murmured Giles.  
  
"The summers always are, my dear," replied Peter, melting into the embrace.  
  
Another long moment passed, locked together, hands cradling heads and clutching at tweed. Finally, Giles stood away and asked "So, how was America?"  
  
"Same as usual," replied Peter with little interest. "Full of Americans. Generally out of tune." He looked thoughtful for a moment, but then nodded, comfortable in the conviction that had indeed been a full and fair summary. "And how was Japan, before that?"  
  
It was then Giles' turn to consider. "Full of raw fish and severely lacking the consonants 'R' and 'L,' as it happens. Handel's Ha-rray-rru-rrah chorus was a thing to behold."  
  
"Uuugh, yes. I've done one of those, too." Peter shuddered in genuine sympathy. "But now we're both home, at least."  
  
"Indeed we are. Your secretary said you wouldn't be back until tomorrow evening." More raised eyebrows on Giles' part with a suspicious gaze, causing a knowing smile to cross Peter's face.   
  
"Well I daresay the excellent woman was acting on the information available to her. I've done my best not to be spotted."  
  
"And your wife thinks...?"  
  
"It would be impolite to give two ladies different versions of the same facts, would it not?"  
  
Giles nodded in pleased conviction. "Absolutely. One must be chivalrous about these things!" He then glanced around the small loft, almost as if someone else might have been hiding amongst the gargoyles. "What about your scholar? You would have had to come back with him, wouldn't you?"  
  
"I sent him off to learn Messiaen's  _La Nativité_  in a practice room and told him not to come back until it was perfect," replied Peter, as sweet as pie.  
  
"Cruel man." Giles grinned wolfishly. "I approve."   
  
Giles slipped his arms back around Peter's sides and continued to gaze with that predatory gleam. Peter quirked his lips and then pulled Giles down into the fieriest of kisses, claiming and sensual and returned with a questing tongue and no little desperation. Giles' long, graceful fingers knotted in his hair and Peter could feel the heat of his lover's body through his clothes, louche and far too light for the time of year.  
  
They broke apart with glowing lips and jagged breaths. "World travel is definitely overated," breathed Giles.  
  
Peter nodded, and then remembered something. "Mmm, that calls to mind a quotation by the late Sir Thomas Beecham, who said-"  
  
"Been raiding the Boy's Own Book of Second-Hand anecdotes, again, Peter?" Giles dived for another kiss before his teasing could be remarked upon.  
  
"Importunate-" Peter spluttered, before being silenced once more in the best way possible.  
  
"So ser-i-ous..."  
  
"Flashy-" Another kiss, deeper and yet more thorough.  
  
They parted, with quickened breaths and hearts racing yet more quickly. "Well, at least I've got a better choir," Giles rejoined.  
  
"Well at least I've got a bigger..." Questing fingers found the front of Peter's trousers. "Ah! Mmmm... Chapel."  
  
Giles broke away and laughed - a full, throaty chuckle. "You're perfectly dull, do you know that?"  
  
"Take me home this evening, and I'll show you just how dull I can be."  
  
Giles pulled Peter close once more, with fond amusement and not a little lust; their bodies aligned such that the urgency they felt for one another was in absolutely no doubt. "Oh, I have no intention of waiting until this evening," breathed Giles, undulating his hips seductively.  
  
Peter melted with the sensation of his lover's lithe body so close and sighed as he met Giles' thrusts with gyrations of his own. However, alarm bells faintly rang in his mind - they were in a public place, someone could drop by at any moment... "What? Oh no, we can't...." he protested weakly. Giles slipped a hand between their bodies and undid Peter's trousers, caressing his length through flimsy undershorts. "Oh, yessss... God, I've missed you."  
  
"Eight weeks is far too long."  
  
Peter was overcome by the urge to touch his lover in the same way, ripping at Giles' belt and zip. Being with a wife was all very well, but nothing, _nothing,_  could compare to the way Giles made his blood boil, made him feel young and desperate and wanton.  
  
In no time they were naked below their shirt-tails, trousers puddled on the floor inelegantly, and stroking each other with frantic abandon as their tongues danced against one another. Eyes closed, breath coming in short gasps.  
  
"Need you... so much..." rasped Giles. The words echoed in Peter's mind as his lover stroked him and they both neared that glistening peak. Oh, Giles's hands felt wonderful - that bold, strong grasp. But somehow, after all of this time, Peter felt he needed  _more_. He needed to feel Giles' touch in the way that he had dreamed about in two months of lonely traveling.  
  
"Oh God, now. Do it now." Peter broke away sharply, then turned around and bent over the organ bench, bracing his hands on the wooden jambs either side of the lowest keyboard.  
  
Giles seemed slightly taken aback at this sudden turn of events, but quickly recovered himself and admired the view. "You do have a glorious arse, you know that?"  
  
"Hurry up."  
  
"But we don't have any-"  
  
"There's a tub of valve oil on the music stand."  
  
After what seemed to Peter like an eternity of waiting, Giles did as he was told. He grasped Peter's hips and moved against him, slick and hard, the sharp mineral tang of the oil scenting the air above the darker smells of ancient wood and lust.  
  
Peter greedily pushed backwards, and their bodies joined in one deliciously slow slide as the two men cried out as one.   
  
Peter's purchase on the organ casing was distinctly compromised by this change in balance, however. His hands darted forwards to prevent a fall, landing heavily in a tone-cluster that rang out with great force throughout the chapel.  
  
"What?" asked Giles, clouded with sensation as he began to thrust.  
  
"Never mind..." shouted Peter over the din, causing the chord to change as he addressed Giles over his shoulder. "Just... keep on..."  
  
Giles did not need to be asked twice. He established a fiery rhythm that sent both men to the heights of ecstasy. This, now  _this_  was what Peter had dreamed about, he thought, rejoicing in the feel of his lover, warm and deep within him, the organ making increasingly agitated sounds as Peter sought for better purchase and his fingers clawed for anything nearby; any solid surface amidst their tempestuous passion.  
  
So close... so wonderfully close... and Peter knew from his lover's gasps that Giles was nearly at the peak of his pleasure also. A moment later Giles reached around to grasp Peter's length... a few forceful strokes and they both released strangled cries. Giles stilled and emptied deeply within him as Peter stood more upright to be cradled in his lover's strong grasp while he reached his own climax.   
  
Indeed, he moved his hands from the keyboard just in time to stop the organ blaring and hear footsteps on the stairs.  
  
  


*****

  
  
The Senior Organ Scholar arrived in the organ loft, to what struck him as a most unusual sight. Two Directors of Music were sitting quite calmly on the organ bench, apparently discussing the mores of a piece of modern music for next season - and so soon after they had arrived home from tour?  
  
"Erm. Mr. Threptree, sir?" he asked, somewhat afraid to interrupt.  
  
"Yes, Edward?" asked Peter, genially.  
  
"Well, I think I have the Messiaen sorted now, and I was just coming to show you," the boy said.  
  
"Excellent work," replied Peter, "But if you don't mind, perhaps we'll go through that tomorrow; I've had rather an exerting day."  
  
"Of course, that's fine," replied Edward, "Erm, I was also wondering what that very modern piece you were just playing might be?"  
  
"Ahhhh," said Peter, with a degree of mysticism. Giles collapsed into a coughing fit which might, in fact, have been peals of uproarious laughter. "That was one of Schoenberg's later works. Fairly experimental, and not widely distributed. Not one that I'd recommend for your repertoire at this point though, young man."  
  
"Very good sir," agreed Edward.  
  
"And a very fine work it is, too," said Giles, recovering himself. As Edward turned to leave he leaned over and whispered in Peter's ear. "I'll show you movement two later."


End file.
